Sherlocked
by AdieBishop
Summary: Sherlock is human, after all. He meets with The Woman, on his own turf.
1. Chapter 1

He couldn't stop thinking about her. Something…something wouldn't let him.

He still smelled her in his bed. He'd refused to wash the bedding. He'd given up telling Mrs. Hudson not to dust, but she was not, under any circumstances, to enter his bedroom to wash the bedding.

Not his housekeeper, indeed.

She'd texted him "Happy Birthday," 'The Woman.' He'd kept it on his phone, read it periodically. He'd begun texting her, periodically. She still wanted to have dinner. He had no interest in eating with her. He wanted more. More…of her.

He'd agreed to meet her, but only on his turf. He spent all afternoon trying on clothes, scoffing at his reflection. His bedroom was a mess. He finally decided on his favorite purple shirt and jacket, and sat in his chair and waited for what seemed like an eternity. He checked his watch, his phone, looked out the window. He hated waiting.

Around ten p.m., a car pulled up outside. Sherlock watched out the window, waited for her to exit, which she did, eventually. He was nervous. Too nervous. His palms were sweating, his heart was racing; in his Mind Palace, his virginity was jumping for joy.

Mrs. Hudson led her upstairs to Sherlock's door, gave him a smile and a wink as Irene Adler stepped inside 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed the door; he could imagine her, Mrs. Hudson, on the phone to John within the next five minutes. He turned his phone off, double checked that he'd removed the eyeballs from the microwave as Irene sat down. He glanced around, turned in a circle, unsure why, as Irene stared at him.

"So, Mr. Holmes," she said finally, "what shall we do?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and sat down across from her in his chair. His chair where she'd touched him. Where she'd leaned in close…so close.

He chuckled. "Sudoku?" he joked, but Irene didn't smile. She stood up and dropped her coat. He knew she'd be naked underneath. He swallowed, hard. She moved toward him, climbed onto his lap and straddled him. He felt like he couldn't breathe, but it was exciting.

She began unbuttoning his shirt, and he watched her intently. Her fingers moved with such ease that he wondered how many times she'd done this before.

His mind raced. His erection was imminent, and when she slid his jacket from his arms, she intentionally put weight there, making Sherlock inhale sharply. God, he needed release. Without saying anything, he stood up, taking Irene with him. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he stumbled to the kitchen. He rested her on the kitchen table and kissed her. Her tongue pushed his lips apart, and he welcomed it. She unbuttoned his trousers and found him quickly, pushed herself onto him, her heels digging into his backside to push him further into her.

Sherlock steadied himself on the table and groaned as Irene expertly moved, faster and faster until he came, hard, with a shudder and a loud moan.

He buried his face into her neck, tried to steady his breathing. Irene ran her fingers through his hair and tugged gently; he was already hard again, and she smiled.

"I told you I'd have you twice on this table."

"No," Sherlock replied, looking at her.

He moved quickly, taking her by the hand and leading her to his bedroom, which was still a mess.

She pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, lowered herself onto him. He grabbed her hips and she moved in circles, arching her back and breathing heavily; her own release was close, as was Sherlock's. They came together, and Irene rested herself on Sherlock's chest. She could still feel him pulsing inside her. She moved off of him slowly and laid beside him. She was surprised when he pulled her closed and kissed her, deeply.

"Now we can have dinner," he said finally, and Irene laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

All he had in his fridge (besides experimental oddities) were fish and chips. He'd have to remember to thank Mrs. Hudson later.

They ate quietly, Irene merely picking at her food, her focus more on Sherlock. Every now and again his eyes would meet hers, but he'd look away, like a shy schoolboy.

Irene wore his purple shirt, and nothing else.

Sherlock wiped his mouth, smiled a little.

"That shirt looks quite good on you."

"I know." She paused. "I think I'll keep it," she said matter-of-factly, and Sherlock stared at her. He was willing to give her anything in the world.

He wondered, momentarily, how he'd been as a lover. He almost asked her about it, but refrained. Her sexual prowess was something he could never master, of course.

He cleared his throat, lowered his voice, and finally met her gaze.

"So, um…did I…did I…please you?"

Irene smiled, leaned over and kissed Sherlock lightly on the lips. "You're the best lover I've ever had."

Sherlock laughed. "Oh, now I highly doubt that!"

"It's true."

"How can that be true?!"

"Sherlock, let's not name _this_. Let's not say those words. I enjoyed your lovemaking so very much." She stood up, "And I can't wait to do it again. And again. And again..."

Sherlock took her by the waist and pulled her closer, began unbuttoning his-her shirt. _Thee_ shirt. He kissed her stomach as he caressed her back, and she closed her eyes and sighed-he really was quite skilled, despite his inexperience.

She stepped back from him and slowly went to her knees, and began undoing Sherlock's trousers, her eyes never leaving his.

When she took him in her mouth, he gasped, grabbed hold of the table to steady himself.

"Oh my God…are you…sure?"

Irene looked up at him and smiled, and then continued her work.

Sherlock dug his hands in her hair and pulled her away and up, pushed her against the kitchen wall and entered her from behind. He moved fast and hard, and Irene's orgasm consumed her. Sherlock pinned her wrists to the wall to steady her as his own climax overtook him. He kissed her on the shoulder, breathed in the scent of her hair as his body shuddered.

Irene moved away from him and began buttoning her shirt. She picked up her coat and shoes and put them on, and leaving Sherlock standing against the kitchen wall, simply said, "Thank you for dinner," and with that, she was gone.

Sherlock stared after her as he caught his breath.

Minutes later, a knock on his door.

"You sly dog, you!"

John.

He'd talk to him tomorrow.

In his Mind Palace, Sherlock's virginity waved goodbye and toddled off, whistling.


End file.
